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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501408">on a dime</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus'>ictus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Class Differences, Identity Porn, M/M, Manipulation, Rough Sex, Sharing Clothes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:28:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce’s relationship with Harvey is—complex. Precarious. Harvey himself is a mess of contradictions, craving Bruce’s attention one minute and holding him at arm’s length the next, his mood turning on a dime. One misstep could be enough to drive Harvey away for good, and Harvey is too valuable to lose—especially now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harvey Dent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>on a dime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts">thedevilchicken</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Loosely based on pre-Flashpoint continuity, but fits in with most versions of canon (including Nolan's films). Takes place early on in Bruce's career as Batman, with Harvey the newly-appointed DA who hasn't yet become Two-Face.</p>
<p>Thank you to asuralucier for beta reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Bruce wakes early. Not to the sound of his alarm, but to a warm body shifting beside him. Sleep-warmed skin, long limbs tangled close.</p>
<p>Harvey.</p>
<p>Part of Bruce’s training involves waking without giving any outward indication of the fact, so it’s easy to feign sleep as Harvey slips out of bed and begins to dress. Bruce waits until he hears Harvey’s retreating footsteps before he cracks open an eye, the display on his phone confirming what his internal body clock already knows: it’s far too early to be awake.   </p>
<p>Bruce runs a hand over his face. The dawn light is leaking into the penthouse as the city gradually comes to life around them. From up here, it’s easy to pretend the city is every bit as beautiful as it looks. Towering skyscrapers surround them on all sides, the early sun glinting off their glass facades. At a glance, it’s almost too easy to forget the filth that infests Gotham’s streets, and Bruce often avoids staying at the penthouse for that very reason.</p>
<p>Unless of course, he has company.</p>
<p>Bruce listens intently for the sound of the elevator to signal Harvey’s departure, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Bruce hears the opening and closing of cupboards, the grind of the coffee machine, the sizzle of a pan on a hot stove.</p>
<p>Harvey’s never stayed for breakfast before. This—whatever it is; the midday office fucks, the late nights at Bruce’s penthouse—has never extended to the morning after. Bruce has never offered, and Harvey has never asked.</p>
<p>Bruce takes his time getting up, assessing and reassessing, dissecting the situation from every angle. Bruce’s relationship with Harvey is—complex. Precarious. Harvey himself is a mess of contradictions, craving Bruce’s attention one minute and holding him at arm’s length the next, his mood turning on a dime. One misstep could be enough to drive Harvey away for good, and Harvey is too valuable to lose—especially now.</p>
<p>Bruce shrugs on a robe, and when he finally emerges, it’s to find Harvey wearing nothing but a half-buttoned shirt that hangs low over a pair of boxer briefs. Harvey’s staring at the stove very intently, sautéing onions and bell peppers with practised ease. Something about the casual intimacy, the <em>domesticity</em>, seems ridiculous to the point of absurdity; Harvey Dent, District Attorney and Saviour of Gotham, in Bruce Wayne’s penthouse, cooking breakfast in his underwear.</p>
<p>“Morning,” Bruce murmurs, easily sneaking a hand under Harvey’s shirt. Bruce’s voice comes out sleep-rough and gravelly, and it’s not even an act. As far as Harvey knows, Bruce Wayne had partied until the early hours of the morning before calling Harvey at his office from a cab, and meeting him at his penthouse. That Batman had spent the evening staking out a Falcone warehouse is a fact that only Bruce is privy to, and it accounts for his sleep-weary eyes, the fatigue that’s writ into every line of his body. </p>
<p>“Is this my shirt?” Bruce asks, pressing a kiss to the nape of Harvey’s neck.</p>
<p>“Yes. You made a mess of mine, if you’ll recall.”</p>
<p>A flash of a memory surfaces in Bruce’s mind: straddling Harvey’s chest and pushing his cock past Harvey’s lips. Harvey swallowing him down, hollowing his cheeks in a way that had felt nothing short of incredible. When Bruce had come, he’d pulled out, wanting to mark that handsome face, that perfect mouth. Bruce also recalls marking Harvey’s collar too. The resultant guilt is fleeting, especially now as Bruce runs his hands over the expensive fabric, feeling the contours of Harvey’s shoulders beneath it.</p>
<p>“It looks good on you,” Bruce says.</p>
<p>Harvey snorts. “I’ll be sure to have my butler place an order with Armani.”</p>
<p>Bruce’s hands still, but only for a second. Bruce’s wealth is a constant source of tension between them, a wedge forcibly driving them apart. Harvey, having grown up in Park Row, has a chip on his shoulder that he can’t quite shake, and it only worsens the more he rubs elbows with Gotham’s elite. Sometimes—like now—Harvey is good-natured about it; playful jibes and wry smiles. But other times he’s barely able to hide is contempt for everything that Bruce represents, for the countless opportunities that Bruce had been readily handed, and Harvey had been forced to fight for.</p>
<p>Sensing the tension, Bruce drops his hands to Harvey’s waist, drawing him closer. “Coffee?”</p>
<p>“On the counter,” Harvey says, gesturing to a pair of mugs.</p>
<p>“Mmm, knew there was a reason I kept you around. What’s cooking?”</p>
<p>“Omelette,” Harvey says shortly, adding whisked eggs to the pan of caramelised vegetables.</p>
<p>“Sounds complicated,” Bruce says mildly, resting his chin on Harvey’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Harvey huffs. “They’re just eggs. Do you have any paprika?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Bruce does know, actually: he has smoked, sweet, and hot.</p>
<p>“Of course you don’t,” Harvey says, finally extracting himself from Bruce’s grasp. “You’re not very helpful, are you?” Harvey adds, now bending down to rifle through Bruce’s pantry.</p>
<p>“I’m plenty helpful. I think they keep the spices on the shelf beneath that,” Bruce says, taking a sip of coffee and blatantly staring at Harvey’s ass.</p>
<p>“Here?” Harvey asks, ducking down.</p>
<p>“Lower. Towards the back.”</p>
<p>Harvey’s all but bent over double now, his ass in the air as he pushes aside jars and tins. “Bruce, I swear there’s nothing here but—”</p>
<p>Harvey straightens abruptly. When he turns towards Bruce, his expression is equal parts embarrassed and agitated. “Very funny.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You <em>know</em> what. You were checking me out.”</p>
<p>“Can you blame me?” Bruce turns up the charm to eleven, flashes that patented Wayne smile as he closes the space between them. His hands find their way to Harvey’s open collar, and from there it’s easy to pull him into a kiss. Harvey is sweet with the taste of coffee, is hesitant even as Bruce gets a hand into his hair, drawing him closer.</p>
<p>“Bruce,” Harvey says between kisses, twisting out of Bruce’s grasp. “Bruce, the omelette’s going to burn.”</p>
<p>“So we’ll make another one.” Bruce cradles Harvey’s face in his hands, both thumbs stroking his cheekbones, steading him as he deepens the kiss.</p>
<p>Harvey surrenders to the kiss for all of five seconds, before breaking apart to say, “There aren’t any more eggs.”</p>
<p>“Then we’ll order in,” Bruce says, now mouthing along Harvey’s jaw.</p>
<p>“Bruce, I’m not going to have you order some”—a gasp as Bruce bites down on his pulse—“some fancy dégustation menu from some stupid, overpriced—”</p>
<p>Bruce swallows the rest of Harvey’s sentence with a kiss, one hand at his jaw, and the other running over the front of his underwear. Bruce feels for the thick outline of Harvey’s cock, and Harvey all but bucks into his touch when Bruce runs his thumb over the head through the fabric.</p>
<p>Bruce breaks the kiss, his forehead to pressed to Harvey’s. “You were saying?”</p>
<p>For a long moment, Harvey’s face is marred with indecision. Until—</p>
<p>“Fuck it,” Harvey says savagely. He gets both his hands into Bruce’s hair and tugs <em>hard</em>, angling Bruce’s lips towards his own. Harvey devours him, forcing his tongue past Bruce’s lips, kissing him with no finesse, only hunger. Bruce’s answering groan is completely genuine, his body gone lax as Harvey backs him against the kitchen island.</p>
<p>“I don’t have time for this,” Harvey mutters against Bruce’s lips, even as he undoes the fastening of Bruce’s robe.</p>
<p>“You have time for breakfast but not this?”</p>
<p>“I intend for this to take a little longer than breakfast,” Harvey says, tugging Bruce’s robe off his shoulders with a growing impatience. The fabric pools around Bruce’s feet and suddenly Harvey’s right there, pressing his body against Bruce’s like he can’t get close enough.</p>
<p>“C’mon Harv.” The nickname has Harvey’s grip tightening on Bruce’s waist. Harvey’s so easy to rile, so long as you know which buttons to push. “It’s Saturday.”</p>
<p>“I know that, <em>Bruce</em>,” Harvey says, his teeth scraping against Bruce’s jaw like he can’t quite help himself. “But some of us don’t have the luxury of weekends.”</p>
<p>“Do those same people have the luxury of not having their kitchens set on fire?”</p>
<p>Harvey freezes against Bruce. He draws back, his brow drawn in an unvoiced question. Bruce’s smile widens as realisation dawns on Harvey’s face, and his expression abruptly shifts to one of panic.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>.”</p>
<p>Harvey releases Bruce and hurries back to the stove. The gas is still on low, and a plume of smoke is slowly wafting out of the pan, its acrid smell permeating the entire kitchen.</p>
<p>“Don’t panic, I have insurance,” Bruce says blithely.</p>
<p>Harvey shoots him a vicious glare over his shoulder as he fiddles with the gas. “Don’t move.”</p>
<p>“Or else?” Bruce takes himself in hand, gives his hardening cock a quick squeeze. Harvey tracks the movement, his expression darkening as Bruce leers at him.  </p>
<p>The way Harvey stalks towards Bruce is nothing short of predatory, his eyes dark and hungry where they rake across Bruce’s body, settling on Bruce’s hand where he’s working his own cock. Bruce juts his chin out and licks his lips, challenging Harvey and upping the ante, daring him to do his worst.</p>
<p>“Turn around.” </p>
<p>Harvey’s voice has taken on the kind of cadence that makes Bruce shiver, and he doesn’t even try to hide how affected he is. He just gives himself one last squeeze before slowly turning to face the counter, his palms flat on the surface in a gesture of compliance. Harvey’s on him not a second later, grabbing Bruce’s wrists and wrenching them backwards, holding them fast at the small of his back. Bruce lets out a gasp which is entirely for Harvey’s benefit, but there’s no faking the frisson of heat that courses through him when Harvey presses his body against Bruce’s back, and Bruce can feel the overwhelming evidence of Harvey’s own arousal digging into his thigh.</p>
<p>Batman knows half a dozen ways to break free of this hold, could have Harvey out cold and on the floor in a heartbeat. But Bruce Wayne wants this—wants it desperately<em>.</em> Bruce Wayne is hard and leaking at the prospect of being bent over the nearest flat surface and getting fucked <em>hard</em>.</p>
<p>“Jesus,” Bruce breathes, arching against Harvey, and if Bruce were more honest with himself, he would admit it’s not just for show.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>For all of his thinly-veiled contempt, for all of his poorly-concealed resentment, Harvey is never quite as savage as when he’s like this. He wastes no time prepping Bruce, no cautious fingers tracing Bruce’s hole. There’s just the sound of spitting, and then the blunt head of Harvey’s cock as he runs it over Bruce’s hole, pressing in until it catches on his rim.  </p>
<p>Bruce is still slick and open from last night, lube and come easing the way, but it’s still a struggle to take Harvey like this. Harvey presses in with tiny movements of his hips, inch by inch, keeping Bruce pinned so all he can do is <em>take it</em>. Bruce moans when Harvey bottoms out, and it’s the furthest thing from performative, the sound rough and raw as it’s torn from his throat.  </p>
<p>“This what you wanted?” Harvey mutters. There’s something unmistakably vindictive about his tone, something that has Bruce tightening desperately around him.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Bruce hisses, already grinding back against Harvey, but Harvey isn’t having it. He keeps Bruce’s hips pinned against the benchtop with his own, the counter’s edge digging painfully into Bruce’s stomach, and just <em>holds</em> him there.</p>
<p>Fortunately, Bruce always knows the right thing to say.</p>
<p>“C’mon Harv, will you—”</p>
<p>A hand tightens painfully in Bruce’s hair, pulling his head until his back arches steeply. Harvey’s lips are at Bruce’s throat a second later, mouthing at the thrum of his pulse, too much teeth for it to be anything close to tender.</p>
<p>“Will I what?” Harvey asks through gritted teeth.</p>
<p>It would be so easy to break Harvey’s hold, especially now that he has only one hand pinning both of Bruce’s behind his back. But pushing Harvey’s buttons has always been a tightrope act, and Bruce can’t afford to overstep, not when he’s so close to getting what he needs from Harvey.</p>
<p>So instead, Bruce lets himself go lax in Harvey’s grip, his head lolling back on Harvey’s shoulder, baring his throat in surrender. Says, “Will you please fuck me?” like it costs him the world, like Bruce Wayne has never begged for anything in his life, and it’s only Harvey that could make him.</p>
<p>Harvey’s hips stutter forward at the word <em>please</em>, a groan escaping his lips like he’s never heard anything sweeter, and Bruce knows he has him. Harvey doesn’t say anything, just gets his hand on the nape of Bruce’s neck and forces him facedown onto the counter, Bruce’s cheek pressed flat against the marble. Bruce can barely get a breath in before Harvey’s driving into him <em>hard</em>, sharp snaps of his hips that have Bruce twisting and writhing in his grip.</p>
<p>It’s not always like this. Sometimes, Harvey lets Bruce hold him so close, Bruce can feel his breath stutter as he sinks down onto Bruce’s cock. Sometimes, Harvey’s hand finds Bruce’s and he links their fingers together, giving Bruce something to cling to as Harvey slowly rocks into him. Sometimes, Harvey looks at Bruce in a way that makes him believe that maybe, some part of Harvey might genuinely—not love, Bruce thinks, but feel some measure of affection for him.</p>
<p>On those days it’s easy. On those days, Bruce pulls Harvey in by his waist and holds him close, and asks him how his day’s been. Harvey will update him on the latest out of the DA’s office, and follow it with a wry, <em>not that you care</em>, then fuck Bruce stupid. But on days like today it’s—</p>
<p>“Fuck, <em>Harvey.</em>” Harvey’s grip has gone harsh around Bruce’s wrists, while his other hand is five points of pain at Bruce’s neck. There’s a current of rage coursing through ever snap of Harvey’s hips, a certain anger in the way he’s fucking Bruce, like’s trying to punish him, like he wants him to be feeling it for days. Bruce can only take it, mouth open and panting where he’s pressed against the counter, completely unable to stop the helpless sounds falling from his mouth. Bruce was always prepared for this to be performative, was prepared to do whatever it takes to get what he needed from Harvey. But sex seems to be the one area in which Harvey has Bruce figured out. He always knows exactly how to touch Bruce, always knows exactly what Bruce needs to be brought to his knees.</p>
<p>It’s disarming. To have the lines blurred like this, to have all his identities stripped away until he’s just Bruce, and Harvey’s just Harvey, and nothing matters except for the way their bodies work together.</p>
<p>Harvey releases his grip on Bruce’s neck and wrist to grab Bruce’s hips with both hands, forcing his cock in even deeper, and all of Bruce’s meticulously-crafted plans suddenly fall from his mind. Bruce can think of nothing but the stretch of Harvey’s cock, of the way he’s forcing himself into Bruce’s body, and it’s a struggle to remind himself what’s at stake here.</p>
<p>Harvey’s hand around Bruce’s cock is almost an afterthought. He grips Bruce so tightly, it has him scrabbling against the countertop, and it’s not even for show. Harvey has long since learned of Bruce’s more masochistic tendencies, and his hand on Bruce’s cock is just this side of painful, just a little bit too much, and Bruce who’s been on the edge ever since Harvey first pressed into him, is helpless. He comes with a shout, his hips jerking hard, caught between Harvey’s cock and his hand. Harvey stills his hips for a second but doesn’t stop touching Bruce, stroking him through it as Bruce tightens desperately around Harvey’s cock, until Bruce can do nothing but whine.</p>
<p>Bruce can barely get out a breathless, “Harvey,” before Harvey’s fucking him again, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own orgasm.</p>
<p>“Was that worth it, hmm?” Harvey asks. He grabs a fistful of hair and pulls Bruce’s head back so he can whisper in his ear, and Bruce can only moan as the new angle forces his cock deeper. “Was that worth making me late?” There’s something undeniably cruel in Harvey’s tone, and Bruce can’t deny—even to himself—that it makes his cock twitch.</p>
<p>Harvey bites down on the shell of Bruce’s ear, and says, “You’d better make it worth it for me.”  </p>
<p>Bruce gasps as Harvey thrusts <em>hard</em>, and when he finally comes, it’s with his teeth buried in Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce’s muscles spasm as the pain blooms white-hot, and Harvey groans as Bruce tightens around him, his body shuddering against Bruce’s.</p>
<p>They stay like that for a long moment, Harvey’s face buried into the crook of Bruce’s neck, as his cock slowly softens. And when Harvey finally pulls out, Bruce can’t quite stifle the groan that rises in his throat. A second later, the heat of Harvey’s body is gone entirely, and when Bruce raises his eyes, it’s to see Harvey disappearing into the bedroom, underwear back in place, already doing up the remaining buttons on his (Bruce’s) shirt.</p>
<p>If Bruce feels strangely bereft, he tells himself it’s because he hasn’t gotten what he needs from Harvey, not yet.</p>
<p>“Can I borrow this?” Harvey has reappeared with his slacks and shoes in one hand, and one of Bruce’s ties in another. Bruce quickly rights himself, feeling his body protest at the movement.</p>
<p>“The one I was wearing yesterday doesn’t really go with your shirt,” Harvey adds as an explanation.</p>
<p>“Keep it,” Bruce says lightly, if only to watch Harvey’s eyes narrow. Bruce cocks his hip and leans against the counter, watching Harvey dress. He knows how he must look—fucked out and shamelessly naked, his skin flushed and bruises already blooming on his skin. Harvey steps into his slacks and Bruce waits until he’s working on his (Bruce’s) tie before saying with calculated nonchalance, “Are you sure you can’t stay?”</p>
<p>Harvey’s glare is vicious. “Some of us have work to do, Bruce.”</p>
<p>“I just don’t see what’s so important it can’t wait until Monday,” Bruce says, crossing the kitchen until he’s no more than an arm’s length away.</p>
<p>“Well you wouldn’t, would you?” Harvey asks, toeing on his shoes.</p>
<p>Bruce stills. This is it. This is the moment, his one opportunity. Bruce has to play this perfectly, otherwise Harvey will snap and shut him out completely.</p>
<p>Bruce places both of his hands on top of Harvey’s, leans in close, and aims for a tone that’s equal measures placation and condescension.  </p>
<p>“Try me.”</p>
<p>For one breathless moment, Harvey’s expression is utterly unreadable. Bruce isn’t used to this; he’s skilled in deciphering all kinds of expressions, reading complex emotion into the tilt of a brow, the twitch of a mouth. But a second later, Harvey’s stepping out of Bruce’s grip, his handsome face the very picture of anger, and Bruce knows that he has him.</p>
<p>“The GCPD are moving in on the Falcone family. They know Falcone’s gang has been running arms deals out of Gotham’s harbour, but all of the evidence is circumstantial. Commissioner Grogan is making his play on Sunday night, regardless of whether new evidence arises.” Harvey’s voice is one of forced calm, but the way he tugs his tie through the knot—furiously, as if he would rather tear it to shreds—gives him away. “It’s my job to get ahead of this, to construct a case that’s airtight and won’t get thrown out of court the second it lands. This could be our only chance to nail the Falcone family, but unless <em>someone</em>”—and this is the part that makes Bruce’s breath catch, because <em>someone</em> can only be one person—“comes through with new evidence, it’s going to be near-impossible for me to pin this to them. <em>That’s</em> why I was working until three AM last night, and <em>that’s</em> why I need to go back to the office today.”</p>
<p>Bruce’s stunned expression is only somewhat put-on. Harvey’s face twists into something ugly, a look that clearly says <em>I don’t know what else I expected</em>. A second later he’s pushing past Bruce to get to the elevator, jabbing at the button furiously.</p>
<p>Bruce remains quiet because that’s what’s expected of him: Bruce Wayne, the asshole billionaire who thinks he can fix Gotham’s problems by throwing money at them. The silence is so absolute, Bruce is almost surprised when Harvey breaks it.</p>
<p>“You know Bruce, some of us actually care about this city.” Bruce’s stomach twists even as his eyes snap back to Harvey’s. The elevator doors open with a sharp <em>ping</em>, and Harvey wastes no time stepping inside and pressing the button to descend. “We didn’t all get the fairy-tale life that you have,” he continues. “I’m just trying to make the city a little safer for those of us who aren’t quite so lucky. And if you can’t respect that, then at least do me a favour and stay out of my way.”</p>
<p>Bruce can barely hold his gaze as the doors slide shut, slowly until nothing but a sliver of Harvey’s livid face can be seen, then close completely. The light above the elevator extinguishes, signalling its descent, and Bruce can only grip the edge of the counter as he processes Harvey’s words, his mind reeling.</p>
<p>Carmine Falcone orchestrating arms deals out of Gotham is nothing new, nor is the GCPD’s knowledge if that fact. But if the GCPD are already planning on moving in on the Falcone family, then that means Batman has to move even faster. At the warehouse last night, one of Falcone’s lieutenants had hinted at a shipment that was coming early Sunday morning, one so big the boss himself was going to come down to oversee it. Batman would have to wait until nightfall, but if he could set up the surveillance in advance of the drop…</p>
<p>Bruce rubs a tired hand over his face, catching on day-old stubble. Absentmindedly, he picks up his phone and dials The Ocelot to have them deliver their entire brunch menu to Harvey Dent’s office.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can also find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/scansionictus">twitter</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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